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t LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. # 

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f UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. "J 







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GOLDEN GRAINS. 









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3 



GOLDEN GRAINS. 



BY 



EMILIE M. KIEHL. 









PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
1871. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



TO 

ONE 

WHOSE TRUTH AND 

GOODNESS HAVE HELPED TO 

MAINTAIN THROUGH MANY DARK HOURS MY 

FAITH IN HUMANITY, AND WHOSE PARTIAL JUDGMENT HAS 

INSPIRED ME TO THE COLLECTION OF MY 

ATTEMPTS AT COMMUNION WITH 

THE UNIVERSAL HEART, 



HI 



fdiraie this Molnmt. 



(v) 



PREFACE. 



Kind friends, "I have turned over many books," 

and within "the books and volume of my brain' ' 

could find no fitting title, unless I forged one. In 

blind despair I seized on Webster, and pored his 

pages o'er and o'er, from Alpha to Omega, and then 

them backwards turned, seeking " a title with charms 

in it, whose title more." At last methought to be 

brief, and "have no name, — no title," dreaming all 

the while that "title-leaves foretell the nature," when, 

on a sudden, "Grains" crossed my vision, and as 

quick as thought I wrote it down in "ebon-colored 

ink," and "sealed this title with a loving kiss ;" then 

showed it to a friend, who, smiling, said that " Grains" 

were dry, and added "Golden" to please my vanity; 

and so it did, — that's all. 

E. K. 

( vii ) ' 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Memory n 

Day-Dreams ...*...... 12 

Love's Wishes 14 

The Little Coupe 16 

A Cat 18 

A Wayside Flower 21 

On the Death of a Lady Friend ....... 24 

Reflections ........... 26 

Welcome the Veterans \ ........ 27 

I should ask but to learn to Forget , . , . 30 

The Maiden's Dream 32 

I am W T eeping Alone 34 

To Grandma 35 

Dedicated to my Esteemed Friend Nathaniel Kirk Richardson. 38 

An Address 40 

A Mother's Love 42 

Old! 43 

The Beautiful French Play of " Fernande." Done in Verse . 45 

Lines written on a well-known Summer Resort in New Jersey . 54 

Changes ........... 56 

The Forsaken . . . . . . . . - . 58 

Music 60 

(ix) 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Is it a Sin to love Thee 1 ........ 61 

On President Johnson's Inaugural Visit to Philadelphia . . 63 

On Visiting the Grave of Stephen A. Douglas . . . .65 

Friendship . 66 

Contentment . , , , , , . . .67 

On the Color of Eyes 68 

The Old Gentleman's Reply . , . . . .69 

She has just come from School 71 

The Dying Girl to her Mother ....... 73 

The Drunkard's Wife 75 

Quotations ............ yy 

Drifting ...'.. 80 



MEMORY. 

Though severed the links 

That bind friendship together, 
And scattered the leaves 

Of affection forever ; 
Yet there are memories 

We cannot erase, 
They cling like the odor 

Round the old. shattered vase ; 
" Their beauty has gone, 

Their sweetness is fled \ 
But memory will gather 

The leaves that are dead." 



(») 



DAY-DREAMS. 

Oh, would that life were dreaming, 
And sleep might come at will, 

What hopes, what joys, we'd conjure ! 
Of earth's pleasures drink our fill ! 

We'd need no bygone stories 
From Tradition's mystic lore ; 

But fancy, playful fancy — 

On her wings we'd dream and soar. 

To walk through fields Elysian, 
Through flowery meads to rove, 

To have all earth a Heaven, 
And all that heaven love. 

To make a home we'd hope for 

An Eden so complete, 
That angels well might envy 

So peaceful a retreat ! 

(12) 



DA Y-D REAMS. 

To have affection purer, 

Our friends just what they seem ; 
To weave for them a new world, 

Is what it is — to dream. 

E'en the child with tiny sail-boat, 
As it floats on mimic stream, 

In fancy builds a giant ship — 

Ay ! the child, too, has his dream ! 

Oh, waking hours ! flit by, then ; 

Let no dark clouds intervene 
To dim the golden sunlight 

Of our happy, bright day-dream. 



1 3 



LOVE'S WISHES. 

I would that I were a dear little bird, 
My nest I would build — let me see — 

In the folds of thy love, that I ever might sing 
Sweet songs set to music for thee. 

Oh, I'd be but a tiny wild flower 

To bloom on a far distant lea, 
Could I but flood with my sweetness thy heart, 

And bloom — ever bloom but for thee. 

The soft, sighing zephyrs that pass o'er thy brow 

Are even more favored than me, 
For they whisper sweet hopes that kiss thee asleep- 

Ah, would I were they, but for thee ! 

The blue-vaulted dome with its silvery rays, 

Or its ripples of gold, are to me 
A speck in its space compared to the light 

Of a smile only coming from thee. 

(14) 



LOVE'S WISHES. 



IS 



But vain are my dreams, — delusive the thought 
Of what had fate willed I might be, — 

We must part, and each wave on the broad sea of life 
Drifts me farther — still farther from thee. 



THE LITTLE COUPE. 

We all of us love, as we journey along, 
To recall happy hours passed away ; 

The sweetest to me in old memories' link 
Was a ride in a little Coupe ! 

Years have passed o'er, yet my heart beats as high 
With the hopes and the joys of that day, 

As when Rosie and I started out for a drive 
In this jolly sweet little Coupe ! 

I asked her what pleasure on earth she loved best ; 

Faintly trying to keep me at bay, — 
She answered, — I hear her, — in tones sweetly low, 

" Why, a ride — in a little Coupe!" 

So timid she blushed at each word that I said, 
It encouraged my powers to full play; 

I implored her to trust in my love, and she'd live 
Her life out — in a little Coupe ! 
(16) 



THE LITTLE COUPM. 

But Rosie now rides in a gay coach and four, 
And has long since forgotten that day ; 

Yet I'd give half my life to live over again 
That ride in the little Coupe ! 



17 



2* 



A CAT! 

Puss, I'm sure, is friendly, 
She's very harmless, too ; 

Yet it seems, with all these graces, 
Her friends are very few. 

She is driven out of doors, 
In winter's snow and sleet, 

To seek her food and shelter 
In the cold and open street ! 

Yet unsightly dogs lie snugly 
On the velvet rug, before 

A blazing fire, while Tabby 
Is driven from the door. 

It surely is much prettier, 

On a cozy rug or mat, 
To watch the graceful poses 

Of a nice old family cat. 



(is-; 



A CAT. 

To sit and darn the stockings, 

And talk of this and that, 
While pussy warmly at our feet 

Lies sleeping on the mat. 

To draw the shutters closely, 

To stir the open fire, 
And listen to the storm without 

As its fury rises higher. 

While dear old grandsire tells the while 

Of how ofttimes, forsooth, 
He braved a fiercer storm than this 

When wellnigh past his youth. 

And grandma catching up the strain, 
Forgets her threescore years, 

And gayly helps the story through, 
Her old eyes lit with tears. 

The darling of their aged hearts, 

Quite lost to all this din, 
Is summing up obtuse accounts, 

Which may or may not win. 



19 



20 A CAT. 



And pussy, dear old pussy, 

With her coat so soft and warm, 

Is purring in her gratitude,— 
I'm sure she does no harm. 

She only helps the picture, — 
You may say my taste is flat, — 

But home is not complete to me 
Without a nice old cat. 



A WAYSIDE FLOWER. 

In a cottage neat and lowly, 

Far removed from pomp or pride, 

Near the margin of a river, 
Placid ever in its tide, 

Dwelt an humble little flower, 

So distant and alone, 
No weeds had ever entered 

Its quiet, peaceful home. 

It budded, bloomed, and blossomed, 

Unnoticed and unknown, 
Ah ! happy in this Eden, 

As a monarch on his throne. 

There may be fairer flowers 
Than the little gem I knew ; 

Their breath as sweet, as fragrant, 
Their tints as fine a hue ; 

(21) 



22 A WAYSIDE FLO WE P. 

But to me this wayside flower 

Seemed more modest than the rest;. 

Of all I'd ever looked on, 
It was brightest, purest, best. 



But the fates that made it lovely 
Transplanted it too soon ; 

It withered in its freshness 
Like a rose in early June. 

None noted it was sinking, 
For strangers' eyes are cold ; 

Who'd care to know its sufferings' 
Had it e'en the story told? 

'Tis" strange that in a garden, 
'Mid so many sheltering bowers, 

Some plants should die and wither 
In the golden summer hours ! 

'Tis this, — -that every nature, 

So differently is made, 
While some must bloom in sunshine, 

As many live in shade. 



A WAYSIDE FLOWED. 

Kind destiny, for some of us, 
Selects the proper bower ; 

On some she cruelly bestows 
The wild world for a dower. 

Well, no matter now, 'tis over; 

The last good-by is said ; 
She is kissing roots of daisies 

In her lowly little bed. 



2 3 



ON THE DEATH OF A LADY FRIEND. 

'Twas in the early morning of a golden 

Autumn day that I stood beside her 

Death-bed. 

The earth was bathed in all the warmth 

And glory of an unclouded sun"; 

Yet angels were fast kissing her pure 

Breath away, to waft it to a clime more 

Genial for so frail a flower. 

Her wasted hands were clasped in holy resignation ; 

Her glossy curls, in their disheveled loveliness, 

Shaded her sunken brow ; 

While her dark, lustrous eyes, as though 

Seeking her Saviour, were upward turned in 

Prayer. 

Her words were voiceless, for, on the confines 

Of that ether world, Prayer is the silent 

Sympathy of soul with soul. 

(24) 



ON THE DEATH OF A LADY FRIEND. 

Her spirit passed out ere the noon of that day ; 
Serene in life's morning and beauty she lay. 
And I fervently prayed, as I watched her repose, 
That my journey might be as calm at its close. 



25 



REFLECTIONS. 

Who does not love to brood above a lowly 

And unnoticed grave ? unnoticed that no 

Monumental pile is reared to show that 

He who rests beneath had wealth, or, 

What the world terms popularity, 

But only modest daisies, mingling with a 

Few joyous buttercups, gamble in the wanton 

Wind. We stand, and, wondering, ask, What 

Was his history ? his name ? Where the 

Home of him who , sleeps so tranquilly, 

So unobtrusively has passed away ? 

Then comes reflection — sober and good ; 

Refreshing and instructive ; 

We leave the spot purer and better ; 

Filled with feelings no stately pyramid, 

No gilded epitaph, ever could inspire. 

(26) 



WELCOME THE VETERANS! 

WRITTEN ON THE RETURN OF THE FIRST TROOPS TO PHILADEL- 
PHIA AT THE CLOSE OF THE REBELLION, IN JUNE, 1 865. 

Welcome the veterans ! welcome them home ! 
Greet them with cheers ! from spire and dome 
Unfurl to the breeze our proud emblem of might, 
Whose motto is equity ! freedom ! and right ! 

Welcome the heroes ! give them a place 
In the hearth of your hearts ; they have 
Blotted disgrace from a nation, whose pride 
Was a freedom, which slavery always denied ! 

Give them a welcome ! their slender ranks tell 
Of the heroes who fought, and the heroes who fell ; 
Scarred and defaced, their beauty we see 
In the bravery of hearts that bled to be free ! 

Welcome them home with music and song ; 
Let the merry bells peal loud and long ! 
Shout to the winds in this happy hour, 
We are saved ! twice saved, from despotic power ! 

(27) 



28 WELCOME THE VETERANS. 

Bind on their brows the chaplets of fame ! 

Honor them, love them, give to their name 

The praise that is due, — it was purchased with blood ; 

Shower on them blessings and everything good ! 

Weep for the martyrs who fell in the strife, 
Pierced, torn, and bleeding, to give liberty life : 
Their memories will live, their deeds are engraven 
On a monument reared as lofty as heaven ! 

Welcome the veterans on land and on sea; 
All nature is glad with the wild jubilee ! 
The little songsters with silken plumes 
Are filling the air with their sweetest tunes ! 

The zephyrs are wafting a sweet perfume 
From the fragrant roses of early June ; 
On the limpid breast of the silvery stream 
The golden sheaves in the sunlight gleam. 

The storm-clouds have past, on the far vaulted blue 
The rainbow's ascension enchanted we view; 
The Eagle its staff proudly bears as of old, 
Conscious of one more star on its fold ! 

Then hail to the heroes who earned us this boon ! 
Their steady march was the traitor's doom ! 



WELCOME THE VETERANS. 2 g 

Their well-aimed blows at treason hurled, 
Places us in the foremost ranks of the world ! 



Welcome the veterans, welcome them home ! 
Greet them with cheers ! from spire and dome 
The Union banner unfurl once more, 
Our interests are joint as in days of yore. 

Rejoice ! oh, rejoice ! while the drums loudly beat, 
And our hearts keep tune to the tramping feet ; 
We can sing the old song — no power can sever 
The Union now, or the Union forever ! 



I SHOULD ASK BUT TO LEARN 
TO FORGET. 

Why must my heart ever sigh ? 

Will destiny never more smile ? 
What charm may lull memory to sleep ? 
What power soothe sorrow like mine ? 
I should ask but to learn to forget 

Every joy the past could impart ; 
Forgetfulness only can cheer . 
This lonely, this desolate heart. 

Why must my heart ever sigh ? 

Are shadows alone my decree? 
Did the stars or the sunlight grow dim 

When they tendered their welcome to me ? 
I should ask but to learn to forget 

Every joy the past could impart ; 
Forgetfulness only can cheer 
This lonely, this desolate heart. 

Why must my heart ever sigh ? 

Has every hope withered so soon ? 
(3o) 



/ ASK BUT TO LEARN TO FORGET 31 

Why do weeds poison out the bright flowers 
That blossom on memories' tomb ? 
I should ask but to learn to forget 

Every joy the past could impart ; 
Forgetfulness only can cheer 
This lonely, this desolate heart. 

Why must my heart ever sigh ? 

What charm may lull memory to sleep ? 
Recollection grows stronger with time, 
And still in my sorrow I weep. 
I should ask but to learn to forget 

Every joy the past could impart ; 
Forgetfulness only can cheer 
This lonely, this desolate heart. 



THE MAIDEN'S DREAM. 

A young maid sat at the twilight hour 

Dreaming of love in her rosy bower ; 

Weaving in fancy a future state, 

When no more, like the present, she'd watch and wait. 

With the loved of her heart ever side by side, 

Down the river of life would sweetly glide. 

No tempests were dreaded, no clouds were seen, 

Through the silvery lining of this bright dream. 

The golden hour of that happy day, 

Waited and watched for, had passed away 

Ere yet the noon of her life had sped. 

Wrecked and alone— ah, better dead ! 

On the great broad ocean, where she'd launched for a 

ride, 
She was drifting now with the merciless tide. 

Was the bark too frail ? I hear you ask, 
Or the journey she sought s^uch a difficult task ? 
No ; the bark was stout — but not fashioned well, 
Every sail was wrong — ay, the veriest cell 
(32) 



THE MAIDEN'S DREAM. 33 

That contained the minutest part of the freight, 
Was coarse and unfinished in kind or weight. 

Heaven help her now — she is far away 
From the sailing-point of that early day ! 
No backward steering on this rude stream, — 
Its course is sure, — and this is her dream : 
She is watching and waiting the same as of old, 
But not for the fate so sadly told ; 
She is watching and waiting the promised hour 
When she'll anchor at last in eternity's bower f 



I AM WEEPING ALONE. 

I am weeping alone, no heart beats for me, 
Drear is my course over life's troubled sea; 
Friendship to a desolate one is unknown, 
Sad and forsaken, I'm sighing alone. 
No one to care where, or what, I may be, 
None in this callous world thinking of me ; 
Weary of life, ever praying to die, 
Lonely, all lonely — each breath is a sigh. 

I am weaping alone, no heart beats for me, 
I must sigh, even sigh, for the joys that I see; 
Ah ! to feel once loving arms 'round me thrown, 
Once, — but my fate is to journey alone. 
I am weeping alone, no heart beats for me, 
Oh, that my soul from its tie could be free ! 
Weary of life, ever praying to die, 
Lonely, all lonely — each breath is a sigh. 

(34) 



TO GRANDMA. 

Grandma, I'm tired, please take me to bed, 

I'm so sleepy I've heard scarce a word you have said ; 

I know that you love me, for often you say 

I'm the joy of your life when you see me at play. 

But why do you cry when we sing the last hymn ? 

Does the smoke from the grate make Grandma's eyes 

dim? 
I was dreaming last night of that beautiful land 
Where papa and mamma with our Saviour now stand ; 
And Heavenly Father called Grandma so plain 
I awakened, and kissed you again and again ! 
You say that I'm good, and beautiful, too, 
But you tell me some day I shall look just like you ! 

Will my long flowing curls, dark, you say, as the 

night, 
Be like yours, Grandma, so thin and so white? 
And my eyes, like the sky in their color, you say, 
Will they look, when I'm old, like your own, dim and 

gray? 

(35) 



36 TO GRANDMA. 

And shall I, too, be feeble, scarce able to walk, 
And tremble like Grandma, when trying to talk ? 
Will a loving grand-daughter, a fond one like me, 
Kneel at twilight in prayer, as I, at your knee ? 
Oh, Grandma ! don't tell me that soon you must die 
And join mamma and papa away up in the sky ; 
For what should I do in this great world I see, 
With no one to care for, and none to love me ? 

Who is this other you tell me will come 

To lead me through life when your journey is done ? 

I never shall love anybody like you ! 

For who, in this world, is so good and so true ? 



Alas, little darling! her innocent heart 
Thinks the sorrow of life is from Grandma to part. 
The time will soon come — for it comes to us all — 
When the leaf of the spring wears the hue of the 

fall ; 
When the russets of autumn with sober tints fling 
Their shadowy folds o'er the hopes of the spring. 
Not the grave, as it mantles the loved from our sight, 
Is the sorrow that kills. There's a bitterer blight 
Than the last farewell spoken— the ties death may 

sever 
Are joys, to the griefs that may live on forever ; 



TO GRANDMA. 37 

Friendships betrayed, affections grown cold, 
The iron that enters the soul ere we're old, — 
These may be, poor child, your portion to wed, 
In the long countless years after Grandma is dead ! 



DEDICATED TO MY ESTEEMED FRIEND 
NATHANIEL KIRK RICHARDSON. 

Life's fevered dream is ended; 

In thy lowly bed of peace, 
Love pleadings may not reach thee, 

To bid thy slumbers cease. 

The garlands that in boyhood 

Ambition earned so well, 
Exotic sweetness lingers 

Round the hopes their perfumes tell. 

The laurels of thy riper years 
Have wreathed around thy name 

A sweeter, dearer chaplet, 
Than the evergreen of fame ! 

Thou hast gone from hearts that loved thee, 

Gone from the tender care 
Of her who taught in early years 

Thy knee to bend in prayer. 

(38) 



NATHANIEL KIRK RICHARDSON. 

Gone from the hearts of friendship, 
Gone in thy morning pride ; 

Gone from the fond and trusting love 
Of thy newly-wedded bride. 



Sweet be thy rest in that Eden above, 
Thou hast gone to the One who is mercy and love. 
Why should we weep ? thou art free from all care, 
For no sorrow nor partings can ever come there ! 



39 



AN ADDRESS 



WRITTEN FOR THE PURPOSE OF EXPLAINING THE OBJECT OF AN 
ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN AT CONCERT HALL, ON THE EVENING 
OF MARCH 12, 1 866. RECITED BY EMILIE KIEHL. 



Dear Friends, — I beg leave to thank you, in behalf 
of the teachers of the Fifteenth Section, for your kind 
appreciation of our feeble endeavors to entertain you 
this evening. 

5}t 5jC 5jS 5|C 5j« * 

Our task has simply been to entertain. 
We know our powers are feeble, but our aim 
Is not to win renown, or chase the bubble fame ! 
We hope, through your assistance, to be able 
To furnish for our school-room a good staple 
Musical Instrument, because the rule 
Is not to furnish for a public school gratuitously 
What our friends in council would term a superfluity ; 
Or if submitted to their wise dissection, 
Would lay too long awaiting approbation ! 
(40) 



AN ADDRESS. 



41 



How much we thank you words can faintly tell, 

But be assured that little hearts will swell 

With gratitude when, sweet and clear, 

The melodeon's sacred notes shall greet the ear; 

And happy voices ring with merry glee, 

In singing praises of a nation free ! 

And echo shall make answer o'er our country's length 

The words of him who said, In unity there's strength. 

The tide of war rolled back from off our land, 

We stand to-day a proud and happy band ! 

Proud that, through self-reliance and our hope in 

Heaven, 
A Grant of peace was to our country given. 
The bar which formed a limit to freeman's pride 
Was split by one whose firm and steady ride 
Up the strong ladder truth and worth had builded, 
Earned well the fame some think too strongly gilded. 

Give him the honor, then, all clique forsaking; 
Remember, every round was of his making. 
His work is over, and his justice meet, 
The victory's ours, and his crown complete ! 
Our starry emblem needs no voice of mine 
To speak its beauties — known in every clime. 
Throughout this widespread world, o'er land and sea, 
Its folds shall wave till time shall cease to be ! 



A MOTHER'S LOVE. 

There is a love whose purity 

Only in heaven has birth, 
Whose hallowed beams shed sunshine 

And gladness o'er the earth. 

When with trials and afflictions bowed, 
And the world looks coldly on, 

In its ample folds we are always sure 
Of a refuge from each storm. 

The Saviour owned its influence, 

And felt its power sublime, 
In that hour of bitter agony 

That filled a nation's cup with crime. 

This love no circumstance of time 
Can e'er estrange. The power above 

Has blest us with so sweet a boon,- — 
Divinest joy — a mother 1 s love ! 



(42) 



OLD ! 

Childless and old, with no loving hand near 
To wipe from her eye the fast-falling tear ; 
Sighing, deploring, that time should deface 
So lovely a form, so perfect a face. 
Time's powder has whitened her once raven hair, 
On her smooth, placid brow furrowed many a care. 
Her step had grown weak, her form lank and slim, 
And her large, lustrous eyes had grown sunken and 

dim; 
A pallor succeeded the bright glow of health : 
Not a vestige remained of the once lavish wealth 
Which nature bestowed with such bountiful hand, 
When she ranked with the fairest of fair in the land. 

Lonely and old, with every charm fled, 

Every hope, every joy, long since buried and dead ; 

We only see now, as she passes along, 

A homely old woman in life's busy throng ! 

We care not her name nor her story to know, 

As we jostle her by in the ebb and the flow 

(43) 



44 



OLD! 

Of the great swelling tide, as it hurries us on 

To the river, where she, like ourselves, will be borne. 

" Life at best is a drama" repeated each day, 

But one actor or actress cannot always play ; 

No matter how fair, they will surely grow old, 

And repeat the same story these verses have told ; 

Another will fill up their place on the stage, 

And their triumphs soon end in decay and old age. 

But not all forsaken, neglected, and lone 

Is every life when youth's vigor is gone. 

With a fond, loving daughter, a proud, manly boy, 

We may smile at Time's wrinkles. Life has no 

sweeter joy 
In our earliest youth till the last of the page, 
Than the love of our children to comfort our age. 



THE BEAUTIFUL FRENCH PLAY 
OF "FERNANDE." 

DONE IN VERSE. 

A high-born youth of handsome mien, 
Not overcharged with heart, I ween, 
Had left in anger his fair queen, 
Clothilde. 

Idly strolling through the street 
He chanced a fairer form to meet ; 
His heart was set at once on sweet 
Fernande. 

Pursuing through the busy mart 
This stranger who enslaved his heart, 
He vowed no power from him should part 
Fernande. 

But while he thought the matter o'er 
She saw some trifle — passed the door — 
He missed her — and he saw no more 
Fernande. 

(45) 



46 "FERNANDE." 

Returning to his former queen, 
His spleen forgot in what he'd seen, 
He told her how he met — this dream 
Fernande. 



A beauteous creature young and fair, 
Lovely beyond all compare ; 
She was a maid with flaxen hair, 
Fernande. 



Not dreaming that his fair 
Was sheltered 'neath the Countess* care, 
He had been seeking everywhere 
Fernande. 



Clothilde had rescued from the grave 
A girl : the self-same day she gave 
A home beneath her roof to save 
Fernande. 



A creature without friends or name, 
Whose young life had been sold to shame, 
Was now the rival to defame 
'Clothilde. 



'FERNANDEZ 47 



The Countess Clothilde never guessed, 
When he this freak of love confessed, 
'Twas her charge whose fate she'd blest, 
Fernande. 



Marquis Andre had come to pay 
A visit, to play out the play, 
When, behold ! he saw that day 
Fernande. 



In the sanctum where of yore 
He had whispered o'er and o'er 
Love vows, till the hour he saw 
Fernande. 



'Tis she — O joy ! thus now to meet 
Her he'd lost in crowded street ; 
The Countess names her Marguerite 
Fernande. 



In his wild ecstatic bliss, 
Countess, thy love he'll never miss ; 
Nor does he heed thy muffled hiss, 
Clothilde. 



48 "FERNANDE." 

Pledges broken, faith betrayed, 
Who will blame the scheme she laid 
To marry Andre to this maid 
Fernande? 

Hugging to her bosom well 
The secret she will one day tell, 
How from virtue's path once fell 
Fernande. 



Beside his fire, one winter's eve, — 
The honey-moon had intervened, — 
Of her, with happy heart, he dreamed 
, Fernande. 

When, in the flickering firelight's glare, 
A form majestic, proud, stands there, 
With imperious gesture cries, " Beware 
Clothilde ! 

61 Marquis Andre, I have come 
To strike your soul with horror dumb, — 
Reveal the life of her you've won, — 
Fernande. 



"FERNANDEZ 

' ' In the rosy morn of youth, 
When my soul knew naught but truth, 
Happy in your love forsooth, 
Clothilde 



"Gave her fresh, young heart to thee,- 
Her life, her soul, her destiny, — 
Only seeking still to be 
Clothilde. 



"Nestling in your fond embrace, 
All the world was but your space : 
Could another e'er replace 
Clothilde ? 



"For you, Marquis, I have crushed 
Woman's pride, — all feelings hushed, - 
Only one thought ever flushed 
Clothilde. 



" One day you came to me and said : 
' I've met my love, — the sweetest maid 
That ever lived, — I've been delayed, 
Clothilde.' 
5 



49 



5o 



"FERNANDEZ 

"No sigh, no tear, no word revealed 
A lingering feeling ill concealed ; 
Pride only now I saw could shield 
Clothilde. 



" I baffled well your cruel art; 
I knew but one wish filled your heart ; 
You dared not speak it — ' We must part, 
Clothilde. ' 



"I made your path an easy way ; 
My pride forbade to hear you say 
The word — I fixed her wedding-day, 
Fernande. 



"Oh, God ! my misery to find 
The truth to which I'd been so blind; 
Your soul with every thought entwined 
Fernande. 



"Aghast, I heard what you revealed, 
But Reason whispered, Keep concealed 
Your weapon till he's won the field, 
Clothilde. 



"FERNANDE." 

' ' I rescued her who bears your name 
From the lowest den of shame, — 
Marguerite, one and the same 
Fernande. 



"The Angel, you have said to me, 
Was pure as purest chastity ; 
A wretched gambler's mistress she, 
Fernande. 



" I took her to my heart and home, 
In pity for her life so lone ; 
I thought a better fate became 
Fernande. 



"A letter telling you her sin 
/ intercepted — well, until 
I saw, poor dupe, you wear and win 
Fernande. 



"Farewell ! my vengeance is complete, 
We never more on earth will meet ; 
I leave you to remorse and — sweet 
Fernande.' ' 



5 1 



52 "FERNANDEZ 

The wretched bride with this dark dower 
Lay slumbering in her rosy bower ; 
He roused her at the midnight hour, 
Fernande. 



With cruel words that wound and grieve, 
He said, "My home you've dared deceive; 
Speak not — at once you leave, 
Fernande/ ' 



Half dead, o'ercome with shame and woe, 
She faintly murmured, "Yes, I'll go ;" 
Then fainted J neath the dreadful blow 
Fernande. 



An old tried friend this moment came ; 
He said, "Withhold your cruel blame, 
Rash man, 'tis I who can explain. 
Fernande 



"Has never wronged, by word or thought, 
Your faith — her love you sought ; 
The letter — see, to-night I've brought 
Fernande." 



"FERNANDE." 

The Marquis's tears each word defaced 
Her poor sad hands had feebly traced ; 
He clasped in one long fond embrace 
Fernande. 



53 



LINES 

WRITTEN ON A WELL-KNOWN SUMMER RESORT IN NEW JERSEY. 

In a cool sequestered glade, 
'Neath majestic pine-trees' shade, 
Stands a structure bold and grand, 
Fashioned by a skillful hand. 
Murmuring brooks and running rills, 
Quiet vales and verdant hills, 
Singing birds who never fly, 
Towering trees that reach the sky, 
Grass whose growth is frail and tender, 
All combine to make for splendor 
This fair spot a perfect Eden, 
To repose in summer season ! 
Failing health and sultry heat 
Led me to this green retreat ; 
Healthful air and slumbers quiet, 
Genial friends and careful diet, 
Soon restored my wasted strength 
And revived the bloom of health. 
(54) 



LINES. 

The dear old host, so hale and merry, 
Whose apple-whisky and fine sherry 
A wholesome flavor gave, I think, 
To all who would consent to drink. 
Another merit yet in store 
Must be accorded to the four, 
Who, to their credit, used the faculty 
Of bounding forward with alacrity 
To answer to the slightest call, 
Involving matters large or small ! 
All these important matters cited, 
I'll tell you how at night they lighted 
This old Castle Sacatterfree, 
Where all things went so merrily. 
'Twas by the bright and luminous rays 
Of numerous tallow-candles' blaze, 
Arranged as sentinels at each door 
Of every room, on every floor. 
But imagine, if you can, 
All the beauty of this plan ; 
Why, if to live should be my lot, 
Ten thousand years, this rural spot 
By me will never be forgot. 



55 



CHANGES. 

We are changing, sadly changing, 

And time, with cruel care, 
Marks its progress, slowly, surely, 

On our face, our brow, our hair; 

Though our fancies may be fitful 
As when life was in its spring, 

And our hearts were light and bounding 
As a bird upon the wing. 

Yet we feel, in looking backward, 
On the joys that come no more, 

Like a bubble on the ocean, 
A sand grain on the shore. 

We know the iron finger 

That marks the dial's bound, 

Traces even baby features, 
In its solemn, steady round. 

(56) 



CHANGES. 

Yes, time matures and blossoms 
Every bud that lives to bear ; 

But their freshness is soon numbered 
Among the things that were. 

Yet there are blessings left us, 

So intrinsic, so sublime, 
Perennial in their blooming, 

We need feel no march of time. 

'Tis our hearts, our soul's affection, 

A gentle voice will tell, 
In accents sweet and lowly, 

If we break the silent spell. 

There are even golden sunbeams 
On life's fast-receding shore, 

As warmly felt in autumn 
As in youthful days of yore. 



57 



THE FORSAKEN. 

Out in the street, 

Wandering alone, 
Looking for shelter, 

Seeking a home. 

One of the many, — 
The story is old, — 

For a living each day, 
Are bartered and sold, 

Only one more 

Of life's prizes is lost, 
The world is so full — 

Who'll care what it cost? 


Only one knows 

How vainly she sought 

A pitying glance, — 

The tears it brought. 



(58) 



THE FORSAKEN. 

Only one knows 

The scoffs she has stood, 
Resolving in future 

Her life should be good. 

No friendship she found, 
Not one heart nor a home, 

Unpitied she'll finish 
Her journey alone ! 

In her pale face you'll read 
The sad, blighting truth, 

Time has cruelly faded 
The roses of youth. 

Her life is all sold, 

There's no more to buy; 
God help her ! her fate 

Is to beg or to die ! 



59 



MUSIC. 

There's music in the streamlet, 

There's music in the trees, 
There's music where no sound is heard 

Save the gentle murmuring breeze. 

The heart may make sweet music 
When the lips are mute and dumb, 

Else its solace were denied to those 
Whose voices never sung. 

'Tis felt amid the solitude 

Of forest and of glen ; 
'Tis heard amid the ocean's roar, 

Or in the busy haunts of men. 

There's music always where there's heart, 

And all is false beside ; 
Sweetly the note that gently floats 

Where love and faith abide. 

(60) 



IS IT A SIN TO LOVE THEE? 

Is it a sin to love thee ? gentle voices on me fall, 

And I bless warm hearts around me, but I've given 
thee my all. 

What though stern fate divide us, our hands, not hearts, 
are riven, 

My all of earth thou hast ; wilt more ? I dare not offer 
heaven. 

And yet, in blessed moments, when our eyes responsive 
meet, 

And I feel thy form beside me, and thy heart's warm 
pulses beat, 

Oh, I feel — may Heaven forgive me ! — I could every- 
thing resign, 

All that I have a hope for, to be thine, forever thine. 

I know 'tis sin to love thee; I remember well the 

hour 
When I vowed my love to smother, and resist tempta- 
tion's power. 

6 (61) 



62 JS IT A SIN TO LOVE THEE? 

Then I felt my heart was breaking, — that my all of life 

was gone ; 
Then I wept the hour I met thee, — the hour that I was 

born. 
But a hidden storm was raging, and amid the muffled 

din 
I clasped my arms around thee, forgetting it was sin. 
Close pressed upon thy bosom, with thy dear hand 

clasping mine, 
I smiled through tears, and whispered, I'll be thine, 

forever thine. 

Is it a sin to love thee ? If I go with all my care, 
And before a high Omniscience my bleeding heart lay 

bare, 
On breath of love to heaven ascends thy blessed name, 
And I plead weak erring nature, for loving thee in vain. 
Heaven knows that no light sacrifice I'd offer up to 

thee, 
No gilded dream of fancy, but my being's destiny. 
And though fate we cannot conquer, it divides thy lot 

from mine, 
In the starlit world above us, call me thine, forever 

thine. 



ON PRESIDENT JOHNSON'S INAUGU- 
RAL VISIT TO PHILADELPHIA. 

Oh, why are ye silent, brave boys in blue ? 

Why silent, ye patriots, loyal and true ? 

Have the lustrous stars on our banner grown dim, 

That loyalists pale at the presence of him 

Who has sworn to his friends, by the power of his sta- 
tion, 

While the question is peace, to preserve us a nation ? 

And where are the hearts which were pledged to the 
cause 

That made tyranny tremble at justice, because 

The blow had been hurled which invoked the decree 

That our country for ever and ever should be 

The asylum of all who desired to be free ? 

And where is the love that had power to impart 

A union of 77iind and a union of heart ? 

Where's the love that inspired the strength and the 
power, 

And that crowned us with laurels in peril's dark hour? 

And where are the emblems from steeple and dome, 

From spire and from turret, from heart and from home, 

(63) 



64 PRESIDENT JOHNSON'S INAUGURAL VISIT. 

That floated in honor of welcome to him 
Who relighted the stars through oppression grown dim ? 
Is our ensign still drooping in sorrow and grief 
For the loved one all loyal acknowledged as chief? 
Yes, our banner is draped, our work we have done, 
In freedom's own ark where our hearts beat as one \ 
Where responsive to unity, freedom, and right, 
With liberty' ] s sons we have fought the good fight, 
And a change of our base we beg leave to decline, 
Our plan was and is — to fight out on this line, 



ON VISITING THE GRAVE OF STE- 
PHEN A. DOUGLAS. 

No pompous record carved to tell 

Posterity thy fame, 
But inscribed in simple letters 

Was thy loved and honored name ! 
And this, I said, is greatness, 

As I marked the peaceful flow 
Of Lake Michigan's fair bosom, 

Encircling as a bow, 
The grassy bed of Douglas, 

The noblest and the best ! 
Of Illinois' proud statesman — 

The bright light of the West. 



6* (65) 



FRIENDSHIP. 

When the freshness of youth and of beauty 
Have mingled with things of the past, 

How sweet to have treasured in memory 
Relics more fated to last ! 

The remembrance of those whom we trusted 
And loved in the days of our youth ; 

The dear hearts that then beat responsive, 

And pulse with pulse mingled in truth. 
* * * * * # 

The richest boon in all this world so fair 

Is friendship. Why ? Because a gem so rare. 

(66) 



CONTENTMENT. 

Why should we sigh and repine at our share 
Of the burden of life, with its toil and its care, 
When God to us all in his mercy has given 
The beauties of earth with the promise of heaven ? 
The beautiful earth, with its bright, cheering smile, 
Its loves and its friendships, — gifts so divine ; 
The glorious sun, with its warmth and its light \ 
The moon and the stars to illumine the night ; 
The carol of birds, and the perfume of flowers, 
The sweets and the fragrance of these are all ours ! 
The dower to ask, more precious than wealth, 
Is the sunlight of love, with the blessings of health. 

(67) 



ON THE COLOR OF EYES. 

Give me the gentle beauty 
Of a mild and pensive face, 

Where truth and candor lend a charm 
Surpassed by rules of grace. 

A flashing eye of midnight hue 
May please the cold and proud, 

It speaks of thoughts deep hidden 
Which a merry laugh may hide. 

A dark-brown eye is handsome 
When mellowed and subdued, 

And I've seen a lustrous gray eye 
Exceed all other hues. 

But give me the calm and mild blue eye, 

A quiet, thoughtful face, 
That looks as though each lineament 

An angel hand had traced. 
(68) 



THE OLD GENTLEMAN'S REPLY. 

The following poem was written on a young lady's refusing to corre- 
spond with an old gentleman, — an ardent admirer, — having no 
special subject to write on. 

No subject ! and a rhyming letter ? 

What can such strange injunction mean ? 
There's something wrong; for want of better, 

77/ be the subject, you the queen. 

A subject's duty is — obeying, 

Without regard to time or scene ; 
Both must, in fact, their parts be playing — - 

Your subject /, and you the queen. 

'Tis not designed to shame your graces, — ■ 

That were not possible, I ween ; 
'Tis to show what my proper place is — 

Your subject I, and you the queen. 

True, you are May and I December, 
I frosted white, you fresh and green ; 

(69) 



7 o THE OLD GENTLEMAN'S REPLY. 

Well might I groan, — but I remember 
I am the subject, you the queen. 

Now should your ladyship permit it, 
My humble offering may be seen ; 

'Tis just as near as I can hit it — 
Your subject I, and you the queen. 

Then, lady fair, accept my homage, 
May naught between us intervene ; 

Youth surely may take tribute from age, 
He being subject, she the queen. 



SHE HAS JUST COME FROM SCHOOL. 

She has just come from school, and the timid young 
thing 

Is only sixteen and a day ; 
She simpers and sighs when mamma kindly asks 

If she'll do her the favor to play. 
She asks why mamma is looking so plain, 

And darling papa is so thin ; 
She has never seen sister, the dear little elf, 

Dressed so homely, so queer, and so prim. 

She has just come from school, and she sings all day 
long, 

And plays the piano, you know, 
Or reads the last novel that Cousin Joe brings 

While the household are busy below. 
She cannot see why mamma is so tired 

Just brushing the stairs and the hall ; 
She thinks it quite mean ma is not in full dress 

In the mornings when visitors call. 

(7i) 



72 SHE HAS JUST COME FROM SCHOOL. 

She has just come from school, and she says 'tis so 
sweet 

To have done with all study and care, 
To receive perfumed sonnets, and love-letters, tco, 

And have such jolly new dresses to wear. 
She has just come from school, and she's dying to 
know 

If the young man who waltzes so well 
Will be her dear husband, — she thinks him so 'cute, — 

But nobody's willing to tell. 



THE DYING GIRL TO HER MOTHER. 

Bend close, dearest mother, I've something to say; 
But first let us join loving hands while we pray. 
It seems but a dream since in health and in pride 
I left our dear home with your blessing — a bride. 

I left you, my mother, — be silent my heart, 
While I live o'er again, e'er my spirit depart, 
The sorrows and blights, the grief and the tears, 
Which followed each other as years followed years. 

Come closer, bend low, — my pulses grow weak, — 
Let me feel once again your dear breath on my cheek ; 
Then we'll talk of the One who with mercy is rife, 
And speak of a love that is dearer than life. 

A love that has guided my pathway afar, 
And brought me safe home — a bright guiding star ! 
It has guided me well, and taught me that death 
Is a triumph when borne on its soft balmy breath. 

7 (73) 



74 



THE DYING GIRL TO HER MOTHER. 

I am dying, dear mother, yet I do not regret 
That the sun of my life in the morning hath set ! 
Bury me under the shadow of trees ; 
The ivy I ask, — are the green falling leaves. 

Water my grave with the dew of your love, 
And angels will smile from their dwelling above. 
Meet me at last, — where to live is to die ! 
Farewell, dear mother ! — mother, good-by ! 



THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 

A pale and trembling mourner 
In a cold and narrow room, 

Alone ! beside a death-bed, 

In the depth of midnight's gloom, 

Sat awaiting, broken-hearted, 
In prayer — the final doom. 

The stars at last had faded, 

And one little sunbeam's ray 
Was struggling for admission 

Through the narrow casement way, 
Where Death had softly entered 

And bore on Seraph wings 
A cherub from this hovel, 

To grace the court of kings ! 

The lone, unnoticed mourner, 

Had heard nor breath, nor moan \ 

Unseen the soul departed 

From this poor, unlighted home. 

(75) 



7 6 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 

Still brighter grew the sunlight, 
'Till it blazed in perfect day, 

On the bed where, pale in beauty, 
The silent sleeper lay. 

A boy whose golden summers 

Had numbered only four, 
Yet want and misery had stamped 

On his brow as many more. 
Oh, God ! that cruel poverty 

Should rule with giant power, 
To crush with iron hand the life 

While yet in childhood's hour ! 

• A lowly grave, by stranger's hands, 

Was early, kindly made, 
And one heart was on this little mound 

Like a withered garland laid ; 
Laid in life's rosy morning, 

In its freshest, greenest bloom, 

Where all its girlish hopes had found 

Long since their native tomb. 
% ^ * * # * 

For hopes so rudely buried ! 

For a crushed and broken life ! 
He must answer who has doomed her 

To be a Drunkard's wife ! 



QUOTATIONS. 

' ' To be without affection is to be in darkness amid 
the blaze of noonday. ' ' 

" The good we never miss we rarely prize." 

' ' Expressive silence can alone reveal 
All that the pure in sympathy can feel. ' ' 

" Oh, Love, our purest, sweetest dream, 
The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme. 
Love makes the music of the blest above ; 
Heaven's harmony, — is universal love." 

" No soil like poverty for growth divine, 
As leanest land supplies the richest wine." 

" Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, 
Each yielding harmony disposed aright." 

" True bliss, if man may reach it, is composed 
Of hearts in union mutually disclosed." 

7* ( 77 ) 



y8 QUOTATIONS. 

" Will the sweet warbler of the live-long night, 
That fills the listening lover with delight, 
Forget the harmony with rapture heard, 
To learn the twittering of a meaner bird ?" 

"Ingenious Art with her expressive face, 
Was born to fashion and refine the race. 
Hers is the spacious arch, the lofty spire, 
The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre ; 
From her the canvas borrows light and shade, 
And verse more lasting, hues that never fade." 

"Give me the man who, having a man's vigorous 
brain, has the heart of a woman." 

" Slightest griefs 
Are easiest discerned, as shallow brooks 
Show every pebble in their troubled currents ; 
While deeper streams flow smooth as glass above 
Mightiest impediments, and yield no trace 
Of that which is beneath them." 

" When two loving hearts are torn asunder, it is a 
shade better to be the one that is driven away into 
action than the bereaved one who petrifies at home." 



QUOTATIONS. 79 

"How sad the fate of those whose hopes 

Are buried in the past ! 
What are recalled of faded flowers 

Save that they did not last ? 
Were it not better to forget 
Than to remember and regret?" 






DRIFTING. 

Drifting, aye, drifting; 

To where, who can tell ? 
To the beautiful skies 

Or the bottomless well ? 

Drifting far down 

To the distant unknown ; 
Some are in troops, 

Some go alone. 

Our poor .feeble bark 

May be wrecked the first day, 
But it speeds all the same 

On its brief destined way. 

We are soon lost to sight, 
And are heard of no more, 

For no voice ever comes 
From that echoless shore. 



) 



DRIFTING. 

Beautiful skiffs, 

Fairy-like, glide 
Over weak wrecks 

As gayly they ride — 

Ride in their jubilant 

Laughter and glee 
Over narrows and shoals 

To the fair open sea. 

They meet other boats 

On their pleasure-sped way, 

And join happy hands 
Light-hearted as they. 

Life with them is one triumph 
Their pathway has been 

O'erstrewn with bright roses, 
Not one cloud is seen. 

Yet their hopes are all built 
On the same distant ark 

As their humble wayfarers 
In the poor shattered bark. 



g 2 DRIFTING. 

Pleasure's cup they will drain, 
While the wayfarers thirst \ 

But they're drifting to where 
The last shall be first, 




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